


Ma-allesh, Pol'thawn

by Ovipositivity



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alien Sex, Body Modification, Come Inflation, F/M, Large Cock, Large Insertion, Monsters, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Sexual Slavery, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slavery, Surgery, Terato, Teratophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 00:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19051483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ovipositivity/pseuds/Ovipositivity
Summary: A Twi'lek dancer dreams of life among the stars, but the reality isn't quite what she bargained for. Will Oola's legendary bad luck ever turn around?





	Ma-allesh, Pol'thawn

Oola had always been a bit of a  _ pol’thawn _ .

The word didn’t translate easily. She’d learned Basic at an early age, and in her short life so far she’d had to learn a few other languages as well, the better to please her masters: Huttese and Togruti and a smattering of Hapan. But none of them had a word quite like  _ pol’thawn _ . It wasn’t exactly a term of endearment, but she treasured it all the same as a link to a homeworld she’d probably never see again. You couldn’t even say it properly if you weren’t a twi’lek; the word itself was accompanied by a certain twitch of the lekku, equal parts apologetic and flippant.

A  _ pol’thawn _ wasn’t clumsy, exactly. Oola was as graceful as a  _ lekkivess _ serpent. She had mastered the eight stances almost before she could walk, and she could perform the four sacred dances by the time she was ten. Her  _ awlok _ was spoken of in whispers, and her  _ gren-tyk  _ brought a tear to the eye of the Master of Dances. Not clumsy in the least.

A  _ pol’thawn _ wasn’t unlucky, either. Oola’s father was clan-chief, and though his clan was looked down on by the wealthier and more sophisticated members of Twi’lek society, it had profited hugely from ryll mining. There was little doubt that Oola would secure an excellent pairing; her beauty and her father’s wealth had drawn the gaze of half the planet’s nobility.

No, a  _ pol’thawn _ was simply a magnet for disaster. If a sculptor working on a frieze dropped his chisel, a  _ pol’thawn _ would be walking underneath his scaffolding. If one  _ gulli _ -fruit happened to be wormy, it would be the one the  _ pol’thawn _ drew from the basket. When the water pump ran dry, the  _ pol’thawn _ would have just made it to the front of the line. 

And when a honey-tongued off-world Twi’lek with a slaver’s smile came to Clan Ryloth looking for merchandise, his gaze would fall on her.

Oh, she’d been excited at first. Bib Fortuna had promised her the world. “Do you want to live out the rest of your life here, my dear?” he’d asked, pacing around her, sizing her up. “Sitting around bored, waiting for your father to sell you to some merchant thrice your age? You’ll give birth to a few squalling little spawn-- if your new husband’s seed hasn’t spoiled.” He grinned again, his tongue darting between pointed teeth. Oola watched him with feigned calm. She knew he was trying to rile her up, and the sad part was, it was working. She wouldn’t have snuck out otherwise, wouldn’t have crept across to where his little ship sat on the landing pad. She’d felt his eyes on her all throughout dinner. The handsome off-world Twi’lek, the man in the rich robes. He’d seen  _ other planets! _ And, with a little bit of luck, he’d take her to them when he left.

“I should call your father,” Fortuna said, stroking his chin with one hand. “I should return his property. Stealing from your host is terribly rude. It’s a shocking breach of protocol.”   
  
Oola’s eyes widened. “Please!” she said. “Please, no! Don’t! He’ll… he’ll beat me!” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “He’s wild when he’s angry, you don’t know him!”

“Is that why you want to leave?” Fortuna asked. “A pretty thing like you, I’m sure he doesn’t dare hit you too hard. Doesn’t want to spoil the merchandise.”

Oola met his gaze and shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, that’s not why.”

“Then why?” Fortuna asked. “Here you have everything you could want: food, water, a home where you don’t have to work hard. You can practice your art all day. I heard rumors of you from half a continent away. You must have suitors lining up as far as Tulara City.”

Oola blushed and her lekku writhed against each other. She struggled to put words around what she was feeling. She’d never dared tell anyone this-- even if they promised not to tell her father, they just wouldn’t understand.

“Nothing  _ happens _ here!” she cried, painfully aware that she sounded like a petulant child. “Nobody creates anything! Nobody learns anything! They just remember! Nobody has danced a step out of line from the Sacred Dances in five hundred years! And I want… I want to go to a place that  _ lives! _ A place where people don’t just wake up and do the same thing that their ancestors have been doing for fifty generations!”

Bib Fortuna had been watching her throughout her outburst. Now he smiled, clasped his hands together and nodded. “Very well said, Miss Oola. Am I to understand, then, that you have come up with a…  _ new dance _ ?”   
  
Now Oola’s cheeks were on fire, and her lekku intertwined like snakes. “Just a few steps!” she said, and held up her hands in protest. “Nothing like a real dance, not truly!”    
  
Fortuna merely folded his hands over one another and bowed his head. “I would like to see it, please,” he said quietly.

Oola took in a deep breath. She had a million things she wanted to say all at once, but she knew that if she tried any of them she would lose her nerve. So she just closed her eyes and sank into the Stance of Harmonious Copper.

The steps came to her as naturally as her own name. She had practiced them enough times, on the hard wood of the Academy’s studios and the cool tile of her father’s gardens. Up through the Stance of Exalted Gold, she executed a perfect triple  _ yekki _ whirl and leapt, landing perfectly in the Stance of Flowing Bronze. Her arms met above her head and she twirled like a gyroscope. Her lekku were moving the whole time, circling each other and framing her face.

She finished and withdrew into the Stance of Receiving Adulation. The little ship was silent for a moment, then the off-worlder brought his hands together in slow, measured applause.

“Most excellent!” he cried. “Milady Oola, truly, your talents exceed even the stories I’ve heard. You are a marvel.”

“So you’ll take me with you?” She spoke quickly, the words tumbling out over each other in her eagerness. She had done well,  _ knew _ she had done well, but there was still something in Fortuna’s eyes. He was _ amused _ .  _ He never meant to take me _ , she realized in a depressing rush.  _ He just wanted to play a game _ . 

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he said, half-turning away. “I cannot. It would be too grievous an insult. Your father would never do business with me again.”

The answer came to her in a flash. “I’ll… be your wife! I promise! If you’re already married, I’ll become your concubine! I swear, you won’t regret it! I can please you, you’ll see, give me a chance!” She didn’t have time to wonder whether she was making an even larger mistake than she already had. Panic had seized her, panic and terror. 

Her desperate ploy was having an effect. She saw Fortuna freeze and turn around slowly. “Please me?” he asked, slowly, sounding out the words as though he’d never heard them before. “What do you mean?”

“Let me show you!” Oola was already falling to her knees. In truth, she had never been with a man before-- her father had seen to that-- but she’d heard her maids gossiping and giggling enough to get an idea of the  _ practical aspects _ . And right now, that seemed to be the only arrow in her quiver.

Bib Fortuna said nothing as she knee-walked across the deck of his little ship towards him. Up close, she could smell his cologne, a blend of musky spices that made her head whirl. He was wearing a long black robe that buttoned up the front. Oola fumbled with the gold buttons. She marveled at them, her fingertips tracing the delicate patterns embossed on their fronts. They were real gold, she could tell that from the weight of them. Such wealth! She pulled apart the folds of his robe. Beneath it, he wore only a breechclout, the traditional garb of the Rylothian  _ ryll _ miners. It was strange to see it worn by such a fine man… but, Oola supposed, it was good to stay in touch with one’s roots.

Fortuna gave no reaction as she unlaced his cloth and pulled it aside. His cock swung free, and Oola’s breath caught in her throat. It was so… so…  _ in her face! _ This was what they looked like? His was stiffening in the air, arcing upward until it was pointing at her face. The tip was bulbous, with a thin slit at the end on which beaded a drop of some strange liquid. Oola swallowed hard. Now she came to the moment of truth. Just how badly  _ did  _ she want to leave Ryloth?   
  
Badly enough, as it turned out. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and leaned forward.

The heat of him filled her mouth at once. His member quivered under her tongue. It was thicker than it had looked, and she had to go slowly, lest she gag (and probably ruin everything, she thought). She reached out with both hands to steady herself against him. One crept up his thigh and found two soft orbs hanging there.  _ His balls _ , she realized with giddy lightheadedness.  _ These are a man’s balls _ . She cupped them in her palm and massaged them gently with her fingertips while she sucked on the head of his prick. It nestled against her cheek, and she imagined she could feel Fortuna’s heartbeat.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she let it slide out of her mouth. His shaft dragged across her tongue. There was a faint flavor to it, a hint of musky sweat, and it tantalized her. She withdrew her head until his tip was poised between her lips, then pulled back all the way. A bridge of saliva linked her mouth to his cock for just a moment and she stared at it as though hypnotized. When it broke, she inhaled deeply and leaned forward again.

This time as his cock slid past her lips she felt his hands on her head. She froze. His fingers massaged her scalp for a moment before sliding along her lekku. Oola’s gorge rose. She already had the man’s cock in her mouth, but this… this was a  _ violation.  _ She had  _ never _ let a man touch her lekku this way. 

Before Oola could say something, his fingertips pinched together ever so slightly. Not enough to be painful-- but the pressure grew, and her head started to spin. She felt suddenly, unaccountably warm. What was this? Fortuna’s hands moved along, his fingers caressing her lekku  _ just so _ , and a sigh escaped her lips. He was not pinching but squeezing gently, kneading  _ here _ and then  _ here _ , the ball of his thumb making semi-circular motions. She let his member slip out of her mouth-- in truth, she could barely hold her jaw open. Pleasure blossomed in her brain, a sort of candyfloss-pink cloud that made thinking difficult. Fortuna withdrew his hand, and Oola slumped slightly.

“Please don’t stop,” she murmured. Even focusing enough to speak was difficult. “Please… I…”

“I’ll keep going if you will,” Fortuna whispered down at her. She could hear the grin in his voice. He was enjoying this.  _ Yes, and why not? There’s a beautiful girl sucking him off on his personal spaceship. What more could any man want? _

This petulant thought was cut off as Fortuna’s fingers squeezed her lekku again and she shuddered with bliss. Her eyes rolled back into her head. The pleasure was mixed with astonishment-- had she always been capable of this? Had this ecstasy been hidden inside her the whole time, buried beneath the surface of her fleshy head-tails, waiting for the right set of nimble fingers to bring it out? It was too much to bear. She struggled for breath. Her chest rose and fell, and between her legs, she could feel wetness soaking into her gauzy underwear.

She bent to her task. She was getting a feel for it now, her jaw had loosened up, and her initial shame had simmered down to a dull murmur. Her tongue danced around his member, circling his shaft and then flicking the slit on his tip. It tasted salty, and she wondered why. She cocked her head this way and then that, letting Fortuna’s penis roll around inside her mouth before resuming her suction. All the while, he kneaded her lekku with practiced, tiny motions. His touches were so light, so gentle, yet perfectly placed to bring her to peaks of pleasure she had not even known existed. Soon her breathing was shallow and sweat was running down her face.

His fingernails pricked at her-- light pricks, not even enough to break the skin, but little pinpoints of pain nonetheless. Her eyes widened in shock, but before she could complain, the little pinpricks somehow merged into the rolling wave of pleasure. Like the piping of a piccolo offsetting the great thrum of the strings, these little notes became a part of the symphony and lifted her with them. She imagined she was dancing again, dancing alone on the great stage at the Coloryllya, the orchestra in their pit and all eyes on her. Her tongue took center stage, darting and twisting and writhing. She thought of the pinpricks of pain and let the tips of her teeth graze Fortuna’s flesh. He said nothing, but shuddered, and his ministrations to her lekku grew more frantic. Oola closed her eyes and rubbed her thighs against one another. She could not take much more of this. It felt as though her body was on fire.

She relaxed her muscles and pushed her head forward, sliding him down her throat as far as she could, suppressing the urge to gag. His mushroom tip nestled in among the muscles of her throat and she swallowed hard to massage it. She could feel the tension in him, the desire for release. He thrummed like a taut harp string. She wasn’t sure what would happen when that tension broke, but she knew should would find out soon.

She was no longer a dancer. She was a musician, Fortuna her instrument. She imagined herself plucking at him like a harp. But he was plucking back; her back arched and her toes curled. She could deny herself no longer. With a shiver and a low groan that started in the pit of her chest and spun outward, she surrendered to her climax. It burst forth from her lekku, electrifying her whole body, making her fingers flutter like moths and her thighs dampen yet further. Perhaps it was her whimpering moans, perhaps it was the way her throat spasmed around Fortuna’s cock, but whatever the reason her display pushed him over the edge.

The first eruption of his seed splashed into the back of her throat. Even in the throes of orgasm she instinctively pulled back, but Fortuna dug his fingers into her lekku. She yelped at the sudden pain. This was not a delicate sting, but an agonizing, biting claw that held her in place. She was suddenly, horribly aware of the thick meat-rod spearing down her throat. Her jaw creaked with effort. Biting, she knew, would be a dreadful mistake. The cock in her mouth twitched again and fired a spurt of thick, salty goo directly down her throat. She imagined she could hear it, sputtering like a backfiring engine with each blob of spunk that it shot into her belly. Mercifully, she could barely taste the stuff, since most of it went straight down her throat. Bib Fortuna held her there for a few moments longer, seemingly enjoying the sensation of emptying his balls into his partner’s stomach, before pulling back. His cock, shiny with throat-slime and dripping with spit and its own secretions, emerged from between her lips-- but not before depositing a massive, gooey wad of jizz directly on her tongue. 

He hadn’t finished yet. Oola shrank away from him, but he dragged her head up by the lekku in time to baste her face. Chunky ropes of off-white cum splashed across her forehead and cheeks. One went up her nose, eliciting an undignified sputter. She shut her eyes tight but felt warm baby-batter dripping down her eyelids.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it was over. Fortuna gave one last groan and let her fall. She landed hard on the deck and curled up into the fetal position, coughing and sputtering. The nearly magical ecstasy she had felt earlier was all gone. Now she was cold, and humiliated, and trying not to be sick.

From somewhere overhead she could hear Fortuna speaking. He sounded bored. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said. “You can come with me if you want.”

Oola nodded glumly. She wiped the back of one hand across her face and shuddered when it came away sticky. What had she done? She’d turned her back on her clan, on her home. She’d debased herself. And for what?

Something soft hit her in the face. She groped for it and found a cloth, a little square of towel. It was softer and more luxuriant than any fabric she’d felt before. She scrubbed her face and wiped the gunk out of her eyes.

When she looked back up at Fortuna he was buttoning up his robe and turning away from her. “You can sleep on the floor somewhere,” he called over his shoulder. Oola looked around in vain for a cushion or a soft bit of decking. “Wait!” she cried. She was terribly cognizant of her position-- sprawled on the floor in a strange man’s ship, a man she had just pleasured, a man who so clearly cared not a whit for her. Fortuna stopped and turned around. “Don’t I get at least a bed?” Oola asked. Fortuna stared at her for a moment, then shrugged.    
  
“I’ll get you some blankets and fold out a couch for you. Will that work?” There was just a hint of sympathy in his voice. Perhaps he cared a little bit. One whit, maybe.

Oola nodded, and when Fortuna returned, he had brought a pair of thick woollen comforters that swaddled her as soft as cloudsilk. The couch was thin, but so was Oola, and it was comfortable enough. And before she nodded off, Fortuna wordlessly brought her a bowl of piping-hot  _ elyem _ stew. He couldn’t afford to antagonize her too much, she reasoned. Soon she’d be meeting his master. And if she could make him happy, well, maybe they’d have a talk about the disrespect of Bib Fortuna. 

Oola smiled. Maybe she’d lucked out after all. Now she was free. Free, and on her own, just the way she always wanted. 

“Ma-allesh,” she said to herself. “Ma-allesh, Ryloth. Goodbye.”

\--

_ Pol’thawn. _ She had time to reflect on her “luck” over the course of the next two weeks. Fortuna had chosen her… she could see that now, with the benefit of hindsight. He could have chosen Rynna, or Vilti, both of whom had mastered the four sacred dances and were well on their way to learning the eighteen lesser dances. Rynna was widely known as a beauty, and Vilti was at least buxom and comely. But he had chosen Oola. Why? Just the way the universe worked.

Her enthusiasm had waned quickly, as Fortuna made it clear that he intended her to continue to service him during their trip. She’d tried to employ her mouth and hands as much as she could, but eventually he had her every way a man could have a woman. The things he said, too… degrading things, sometimes, harsh words that rasped against her delicate sensibilities. He provided her with clothes, but they were lewd things, mere scraps of fabric and lace that barely hid anything. He’d gotten rid of her old outfit at some point and refused to tell her where it was. Nor did she have any place to hide from him; the doors on the ship all opened at his command, and he seemed to view a closed door as a challenge.

He had his moments of kindness, like before, but they were few and far between. If Oola had been more worldly, more sophisticated, she might have wondered how he could be so hot and cold. One moment he’d be plunging his member into her defenseless ass and ignoring her cries of pain, taunting her with cruel names. The next he’d gently massage her back with fingers so skilled she’d sigh and melt. He’d grope her shamelessly whenever he felt like it, but he also invited her to dinner in his stateroom and poured the finest wine she’d ever tasted over candlelight. These dinners were always friendly affairs, sumptuous meals with light but stimulating conversation. Fortuna would refer obliquely to the wealth and power of his master Jabba, but he would not describe him further, saying only that Oola would meet him when the time was right.

The rest of the time, though, he was like a beast, and the closer they grew to their destination the more wild he became. Soon her breasts and thighs were covered in bruises and bitemarks, and she could only walk with difficulty. She’d always imagined her first time would be romantic and gentle. This was not been what she had been hoping for.

Things only got worse when they arrived at Tatooine. Oola had imagined a tropical pleasure planet, but Tatooine was a wind-scoured desert baking beneath twin suns. Bib Fortuna handed her over to a rough crew of mercenaries with instructions to “take her to the Palace.” That word perked up Oola’s spirits, but the look of the guards made her heart sink. They were a mixture of leathery-skinned Weequey and brutish Gamorreans, and not a single one of them could take his eyes off her. By the time they had loaded her into the waiting skiff, their hands had gone everywhere, and she was wiping Gamorrean spittle off her shoulder.

The worst surprise of all was waiting at the Palace. Bib Fortuna’s master, Oola was informed, was the mighty Jabba the Hutt. He was wealthy and he was powerful, but he was also a gigantic slug ten times her weight. And from the look of the dancing girls he had brought with him, he had a taste for humanoid females.

Not that Oola needed the context to figure that one out. The expression on Jabba’s face told her everything she needed to know. The way his tongue caressed the lipless edges of his mouth, the way his gaze lingered on her hip and bust while she danced… Bib Fortuna took after his master, to be sure. But she couldn’t run now. Even if Jabba would let her go-- and one look at the fetters around the ankles and necks of the other dancers told her that he would not-- she was in the middle of a searing desert. There was nowhere to run.

Oola was dead on her feet with exhaustion. The day had brought horror after horror, and she could take no more. Jabba, however, was in the mood to test out his new acquisition. He demanded she dance as an introduction, but after she stumbled through a few stanzas of  _ Ellyt Rhinn Mural _ , he seemed to lose interest. She practically fell into the arms of a matronly Askajian who had been watching her from the edge of the crowd. Oola sprawled against the woman’s stocky, six-breasted front and looked up.

The face that greeted her was friendly, if a bit warty. “Name’s Yarna,” the woman said in husky Basic. “What’s yours, girlie?”

“Oola,” Oola murmured. “Please… water, I…”

A strange look crossed Yarna’s face for a moment, but she nodded. “Yes, of course. Poor thing, you must be wrung out. Come with me.”

She hoisted Oola up with an arm under her shoulders and carried her into a dark corner of the throne room. They descended a few shallow steps, into a bowl-shaped depression lit by a soft blue light. A half-dozen dancers lounged on cushions or leaned against the wall. A tall Chagrian woman lounged against a pillar, smoking from a water pipe. She wore a thin silk thong and nothing else, and every inch of her flesh was covered in elaborate tattoos. 

Yarna set Oola down on a cushion and shooed away a Devaronian girl with a strung-out expression on her face. “Here, Oola,” the Askajian said, holding a copper ewer to her lips. Oola sipped and found cold, crystal-clear water. She could feel the blessed coolness flowing out into her limbs.    
  
“Thaaaaat’s better,” Yarna said, fussing over and trying to get her propped up comfortably. “It’s been a rough day. Relax. Girls,” she called, and the rest of them hushed their individual conversations and looked over. “This is Oola. She’s joining our merry little band. Reeba, can you find her somewhere to sleep?” 

The Chagrian girl grunted assent. Oola sat up and looked around. “What… what happens now, Yarna?” she asked. “Bib Fortuna said… he told me…”

“Oh, child,” Yarna said, her face creasing into a sympathetic frown. “He lied.”

He had. Oola found that out quickly enough.

She was Jabba the Hutt’s newest plaything, and for a dreadful month, she had the Hutt’s full attention. The outfits that Fortuna had given her were practically formal robes compared to the scraps that the Hutt made her wear. Sometimes she had to perform naked, the rest of the time she might as well have been. She could feel dozens of eyes on her when she danced. These were not sacred dances, honoring the spirits and the beauty of the Twi’lek form. They were lewd displays, meant to show off her body so that everyone would know how fine a slave Jabba had picked up. Slave she was-- she was fitted for a collar her second day in Jabba’s palace, and more often than not it was attached to a choke chain secured in Jabba’s fist. He would jerk savagely on the chain when he didn’t like a move, when he thought she was being too modest or too boring, or sometimes just for fun. He guffawed when she stumbled and roared with laughter when she fell.

She’d gladly have danced until her feet bled, though, to avoid her private sessions with Jabba. Almost every night of her first month, after his courtiers had dispersed and his band had packed up their instruments, Jabba would tug on her chain and draw her back into his chambers. They were the most opulent rooms she’d ever seen, filled with ostentatious displays of wealth, but she could never enjoy them. Jabba’s appetite for her body was as fervent as his appetite for Klatooine paddy frogs. Sometimes, he would command she stand still, then circle her trembling form. He’d flick her with his tail to tease her, then grumble suggestively in Huttese. Oola would close her eyes as he descended on her, licking her head and chest with his broad tongue, his stubby fingers squeezing and kneading. Sometimes he would shove one of those fingers up into her slit, heedless of her squeals of pain and discomfort. Oola never got anything out of his clumsy flailing, but she quickly learned to sigh and moan as though she was dissolving in pleasure, lest he take his frustration out with his fists.

These nights, as loathsome as they were, paled in comparison to the nights when he demanded she attend to him. Hutts had genitals, just as men did, but as bloated and grotesque as the rest of them. Jabba’s cock was a lump of diseased meat the size of Oola’s calf, knotted with boils and fibrous growths. It oozed foul-smelling slime and quivered when she touched it. Some nights he wanted her to stroke it, others to lick it. The taste was almost unbelievably foul, but Oola kept her gorge down nonetheless… she learned the hard way that such expressions of distaste for the Hutt’s body were punishable by beatings.

Some nights he tried to put it in her, but he was never able to do so. Jabba was strong and not particularly gentle, but no matter how long he spent thrusting his fat fingers into her defenseless pussy, he could not widen it enough to accommodate his cock. An hour of effort would leave Oola bruised and in tears, but no close to taking him inside her. She could never walk after these sessions, and had to be carried back to the dancers’ quarters by the Gamorreans.

She never spoke of these indignities to Yarna and the others. They were too shameful. Yet she knew that the other girls must have an idea. Oola was not the only one ever called into Jabba’s private sessions, and occasionally Reeba or Glami or one of the others would stumble back to their little abode white-faced and trembling, with a strange limp. The dancers would care for her without a word until she was well again, just as they did for Oola. Theirs was a strange sorority, linked only by unfortunate circumstance, but they found strength in each other. After Oola’s first month, the novelty of her had worn off, and Jabba no longer called for her quite as often. She found some time to relax, to sit and watch the band, to dip her toe in the palace intrigues. It was never enjoyable, but at least at times her life was bearable.

Until about six months into her stay at Jabba’s Palace. She had been dancing for Jabba all day, and a strange feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. One of the petitioners today had been a seedy-looking Muun who had stared at her long and hard. He’d had a whispered conversation with the Hutt, after which both of them had regarded Oola with what she knew by now to be an unhealthy amount of interest. Sure enough, as the day was winding down, Jabba called her into his chambers. And sure enough, the Muun was there, too.

Oola sighed inwardly. It wasn’t that uncommon for Jabba to bring guests-- sometimes one of his gangster underlings, more often another one of the girls. Usually he wanted Oola and his guest to couple while he watched. This time, though, he seemed almost bored. The Muun inspected Oola from head to toe, first with his eyes, then with his hands. They lingered on her hips, and then to her alarm (but not, unfortunately, her great surprise) he yanked aside her thong and began stroking her labia. He had the detached air of a scientist, but he still slid one long, multi-jointed finger up inside her.

“Yes, yes,” he said in Huttese, withdrawing his hand. “She’s perfect!”

Jabba rumbled happily. Oola looked confused from one to the other of them, but dared not speak.

“Shall I do it tonight?” the Muun asked. 

Jabba nodded and licked his chops. “You are sure it will work?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” the Muun replied excitedly. “That is, quite sure. It worked on most of my test subjects.”

“Test subjects?” Oola blurted out. She knew she shouldn’t but she couldn’t hide her alarm. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, excellent news, my dear,” the Muun said, clasping her hand in both of his. “The great Jabba has asked me to perform a surgery on you. He loves you deeply, but your inability to couple with him leaves him dreadfully sad. After my surgery, that will be a thing of the past! You will be more than, uh, elastic enough to make love to Lord Jabba. Won’t that be grand?”

Oola turned to run. All rational thought had ceased, and panic drove her. But the Hutt was faster, and a tug on her chain sent her sprawling onto her back. She hit her head hard enough to see stars.

“Oh, dear,” the Muun said, kneeling over her. There was something in his hand. Steel flashed, and Oola felt a sharp bite at her neck. She gasped, but her eyelids were already drooping. She didn’t even have time to beg.

\--

She came to in the dancers’ quarters, lying in a camp bed that Yarna usually occupied. The Askajian was standing over her, concern writ all over her face. “Don’t try to move,” she whispered. “That  _ butcher  _ dropped you off here three nights ago. That monster! He told us what he did. Oola, I am so sorry.”

Memory came back, and Oola groaned in horror. She felt downwards with her hands, but her midsection was swaddled in bandages. “I don’t  _ feel _ any different…” she said cautiously. Yarna’s face was a grim line.   
  
“You looked a fright when he brought you in here,” she said. “He says that if his procedure works on you, the rest of us will be getting it. I’m sorry this happened to you. It could have been any of us. It just happened to be you the day that animal showed up.”

_ Pol’thawn _ , Oola thought.  _ It just happened to be me _ . She wept.

It took a week for her surgery to heal. She was wheeled out in a gurney to Jabba’s court, where the Muun doctor theatrically unwound the bandages. Six months ago, Oola would have been horrified to have everyone seeing her most private places like this; now, she was just deadened to it. When the last of the bandages were removed, there was an audible murmur of confusion. She didn’t  _ look _ any different at all. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the Muun proclaimed. “What you see before is an ordinary Twi’lek female! Or is she?” He gestured to the audience, and a Gamorrean trundled out towards him pushing a wheeled metal trolley. A black dropcloth hid the trolley’s contents from sight. The Muun grabbed the cloth and yanked it away, revealing a stainless steel tray on which lay a half-dozen rubberized dildos.

The smallest was quite large, the largest grotesque; it had to be the width of Oola’s neck. A shiver of fear ran up her spine. She had a vision of the immediate future, and hoped she was wrong.

“See!” the doctor said, lifting the smallest dildo. Held in his thin, delicate fingers, it looked even more massive. It would have put any human man Oola had seen to shame. “Most women could accommodate this device, it is true. But look at how easy it is with my subject!” He swung around suddenly and, without any fanfare, buried it up to the hilt in Oola’s cunt.

She squawked in surprise. Normally she’d have had to relax and work up to taking something this size-- in her time servicing Jabba’s retinue, she’d grown quite familiar with the limits of her body. But now the dildo sank into unresisting flesh with no resistance at all. Indeed, it made a wet squelching sound as it went in, and a few drips of liquid squirted out from between her pussy lips. She was wetter than she could ever remember being, and she could feel lubricant dripping off the end of the rod that was sticking out of her. More than that, though, she could feel the sizzle of her aching clit. It had awoken instantly, and now it was demanding more. Her body was a hundred, a  _ thousand _ times as sensitive as it had been. She imagined she could feel every tiny imperfection in the plastic molding pressing against her inner walls. She gasped and wiggled her hips in a desperate quest for stimulation.

The doctor yanked, and just as quickly as it had come, the warmth and pressure inside her vanished. She moaned in frustration. She needed more! Her body was awake now, and craving one thing. The doctor seemed to recognize her need. He rubbed her clit with the ball of his thumb and she threw her head back, lekku flailing wildly, teeth gritted to keep from screaming out her pleasure.

“As you can see,” the doctor said, ignore her thrashing, “I have also enhanced her erogenous sensitivity. She won’t just be able to take larger partners, she’ll positively demand them!” A wave of laughter washed over them, but Oola was too far gone to care.

“Let’s try to go a bit bigger,” the doctor suggested. He placed the dildo he had just removed back on the tray, where it sat in a widening puddle of Oola’s juices, and grabbed the next largest. This one was at least as thick around as his wrist, and as long as his forearm. Yet he sank it into Oola’s supple flesh with no more resistance than the first had experienced. She could see a ridge of flesh raise from her pubic mound to her belly button, a visible sign of where the massive prong was churning up her guts, yet again she felt no pain. In fact, being this full was incredibly arousing. The huge dildo had found her most secret places and was pressing against them, lighting up the pleasure centers of her brain like a Life Day tree.

She barely noticed when the doctor retrieved the dildo and fetched another. All she was aware of were the moments of blissful release and the moments of hollow longing. With each new toy filling her up wider and deeper, she felt herself pushed to greater heights of pleasure. An idiot grin seemed plastered on her face and her eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, while her toes curled and her hands formed fists and her back arched again and again and again. At one point she looked down to see a bulge larger than her head sticking out of her belly, a crude penile shape that nearly reached her breasts. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth and drool ran down her chin, and she knew no more.

Sometime later she found herself coming to in Jabba’s private chambers. She had been untied and left there, her thighs sticky. She rolled over onto her back and groaned. There was a bone-deep ache in her pelvis, though not nearly as bad as she might have expected given the inhuman workout her poor pussy had gotten. She climbed to her feet just in time for Jabba to slither through the door.

“At least!” he rumbled at the sight of her. She backed away from him in terror until she trapped against one corner. 

“We can consummate our relationship!” Jabba declared. His saucer-like eyes narrowed. “I paid a lot to upgrade you, Oola, so you had better please me.” Oola hung her head.  _ Pol’thawn _ , she thought, as she crossed the room towards him. It could have been anyone who ended up here, but it was always going to be Oola.

Jabba slithered around and rolled over onto his back. A fold of flabby flesh peeled back to reveal his stiffening cock. It was crusted with dried slime and she could smell it from several feet away. Her nose wrinkled and she shrank back, whimpering.

Jabba paid no attention to her protestations at all. He yanked on her choke chain and she stumbled forward into his arms. He seized her by the shoulders and lifted her bodily off the floor. The Hutt, despite his corpulent appearance, was monstrously strong, and though she thrashed in desperation, she could not break his grip. His prong stood up like a flagpole, and he lowered her onto it with steady but relentless pressure.

Oola cried out when she felt his bulbous head pushing against her nether lips. It was rough and scaly, but also sticky and damp, and it left a smear like a snail’s trail against her thigh. She was used to this; Jabba had never fully given up his dream of fucking his favorite Twi’lek. She was not, however, prepared for the feeling of it slipping past her defenses and spearing up towards her womb.

The dildos had left her gasping and helpless, but Jabba’s cock set off a thermal detonator in her brain. The dildos had been smooth and featureless. Jabba’s cock was rough and textured, and it scraped against her inner walls. The irregular knots on its sides brushed against her lips and clit, sending sparks arcing across her skin. She arched her back and opened her mouth in a silent howl. She thought she had known pleasure before-- but the body-contorting ecstasy on the doctor’s table were nothing compared to what she was feeling now. Her resistance had collapsed, and now she bounced like a ragdoll as Jabba forcefully dragged her up and down. Her limbs flailed and bounced bonelessly and her lekku thrashed from side to side. With each thrust, a massive bulge tented the flesh of her stomach. She fancied she could see every detail of the Hutt’s cockhead through her taut skin. Not only could she see it, but she could  _ feel  _ each impact deep inside her. It seemed to her-- insofar as she was still capable of rational thought-- that she should be in agony right now. Her legs were unnaturally splayed, her pussy lips stretched thin, and the shape in her stomach made her look as though she had swallowed a tree stump. Every time the Hutt dragged her down, his member carved up through her guts, shoving her internal organs out of the way in dramatic fashion. Every time he pulled out her body snapped back into shape with a undignified rubbery  _ fbbbtttth _ .

“Oh! Ah! My Lord, my Lord Jabba!” Oola babbled mindlessly, her brain on autopilot. She could barely think. Each thrust sent ripples of sensation racing outward from the red-hot bud of her clit: crackling arcs of pleasure, a thick feeling of  _ fullness _ that was satisfying in the most primal sense. Jabba’s thrusts were molding her, reshaping her hungry cunt around his massive prick. She could tell that no normal man would be able to satisfy her after this. Perhaps that had been what Jabba was after-- he wanted to mark her so permanently and thoroughly that there was no going back.

Oola’s orgasm was as messy and explosive as the rest of their coupling. Jets of clear juice squirted forth from her overstuffed quim. She cried out over and over again, high-pitched wails that bounced off the walls and ceiling. “Oh! OH! OH, JABBA, OH, OH, OHHHHH!” The Hutt chortled low in his chest, then stiffened. Her spasming channel milked his member and he responded by planting it in her as deep as it would go.

His whole body rumbled, then he began to cum. Oola felt it flooding into her: thick, piping-hot gouts of Hutt seed painting her insides, flooding into her womb. Despite her newfound elasticity the sheer girthiness of his cock meant that she was stretched tight around him, and the seal between her flesh and his was nearly watertight. Tiny jets of goopy Hutt cum splashed out and fanned across her thighs, but the majority of it was corked inside her. With no place to go, it poured into her already-stretched womb. Her eyes rolled back into her head, showing only the whites. She thought she had been full before, but that was nothing compared to this. Her belly expanded steadily, its surface churning like a rough sea. Soon she looked as though she were heavy with child and about to drop, and she was still growing.

By the time Jabba’s prick softened enough to slide out of her, she was cradling a belly larger than an astromech droid. As soon as he was free, a great torrent of unidentifiable fluid began to pour from her gaping and battered quim. It glugged out of her unabated and pooled on the floor below. As soon as Jabba let go of her, she toppled over sideways and landed heavily with a  _ splash _ . Jabba slithered away, while Oola lay there in an expanding puddle of gluey, chunky Hutt broth. Despite the torrent of slime pouring out of her, Oola’s belly had barely shrunk at all. Her pussy gaped obscenely, her lips stretched beyond recognition. She could feel them slowly knitting themselves back into shape. It was an odd feeling, a tingle, and it made her slightly nauseous.

She twitched with each aftershock that tore through her. Each one was a spasm of sudden and uncontrollable pleasure that left her breathless and mewling. Her hands groped blindly at her belly. Never had she imagined that pleasure like this could exist in the universe… never. She was barely aware of it when Jabba called his guards to carry her away. Nor was she fully awake when the other dancers clustered around her, their faces twisted in mingled shock and sympathy and no small amount of horror. Was this to be their fate as well?

It took more than twenty-four hours for Oola’s stomach to shrink back to its normal size, and another twenty-four for her to be able to walk unassisted. Dancing was out of the question for at least a week. When Oola could think straight again, she could not believe what she’d done. What  _ they’d  _ done. Was this to be her life now? Really?

The Muun doctor vanished shortly after her procedure, and though Yarna never said anything about it, Oola was sure she was somehow responsible. His disappearance was a tremendous relief-- none of the other dancing girls could be subjected to his barbaric “transformation.” Yet that meant that, when Jabba wanted to lay with one of his slave girls, he only had one option. Oola found herself called in to his chambers at least once every week. Every time was the same: the dread, the lurid pleasure that overpowered her, the explosive finale, and then the creeping shame afterward. Her body had become a prison, and despite the brain-melting orgasms Jabba’s cock wrenched out of her every time, she fell into despair.

She still danced, but she was listless, with none of the grace she had shown the Master of Dances. New girls arrived all the time (where the old ones went, nobody knew, or at least nobody wanted to say). More and more often, Oola found herself pushed to the sidelines-- except on those nights when Jabba took his pleasure. Reeba took pity on her and shared her pipe, and the spice-smoke helped push the pain away. A little bit.

The day Han Solo’s frozen form was brought in, Oola barely noticed. Jabba had called on her the night before, and she had hit the spice extra-hard to compensate. She was dimly aware of a commotion among the courtiers, but she never paid attention to palace gossip anyways.

Later, though, when the throne room had cleared out, she saw the man hanging on the wall, and a strange flash of fellow-feeling hit her. The carbonite had stolen the detail from Solo’s face, so she could just make out the contours of his expression: eyes wide, mouth open in an endless, silent scream. His hands were up in front of him, as if to ward off invisible tormentors. Oola reached out towards the frozen slab and stopped with her fingers a few inches away from his. “You were free, once,” she whispered. “Me too. I know what it’s like, Solo.”

She snatched her hand back and hurried away, head down. Spending too much time near Solo was dangerous; it would draw Jabba’s attention. And the master’s attention was never good news.

The next surprise came a few months later. The Max Rebo Band was tuning up-- yet another group of performers who had fallen into Jabba’s clutches, Oola noted-- and a pair of droids had arrived unescorted. Like the rest of the courtiers, she listened to their message, and nobody was surprised when Jabba refused to give up his favorite decoration. Oola’s heart leapt, though. Someone had come for Han Solo. Someone wanted to rescue him. That  _ never _ happened. All of her friends-- Yarna and Reeba and the Band and everyone else-- were Jabba’s slaves, but once you disappeared into the palace, the only way out was through the Pit of Carkoon. Nobody had ever cared about Oola enough to come rescue her. She wondered sometimes if her father had tried, if he had sent out huntsmen and offered a reward for her safe return. She had always thought that his shame at his runaway daughter was so great that he would not bother trying to recover her, but the sight of the droids made her reconsider. Maybe there was someone out there looking for her. Maybe she could be free again.

“Oola!” Yarna’s voice broke her reverie. The Twi’lek looked up in shock. 

“He wants you.” Yarna nodded towards Jabba. Oola skin crawled, and her terror must have shown on her face, because Yarn shook her head. “No, to dance.”

“To dance?” Oola climbed unsteadily to her feet. “Whoa, girl,” Yarna said, steadying her by one arm. “You junk-sick? Not a good time for it.”

Oola shook her her, sending her lekku flying. She took a deep breath and centered herself. “No. No, I’m ready.”  _ Pol’thawn. To draw his attention now... _

She strode confidently out onto the audience chamber floor. There they all were: Jabba and the horrible Crumb, those new droids, Max Rebo and his band, Ree-Yees, the Anzat Jerriko, Ephant Mon, even Bib Fortuna himself. They were all staring at her. And yet, for the first time since before her awful surgery, Oola welcomed their attention.

As the band struck up their song, she rose up through the Fifth Form. Her legs crossed over,  _ one-two,  _ as crisp and sharp as she’d ever been in the training halls. She segued into the  _ mal-arat _ , formed the sacred helix with her arms, and ascended rapidly up to the Eighth Form.

The music filled her head. It was unfamiliar and out of tune, but that was ok. She was a Twi’lek sacred dancer, bonded and blooded, and a true sacred dancer found the rhythm within herself. She leapt and spun, whirled and bent. She could feel the eyes tracking her, see the mouths hanging open. She did not let it distract her. This was the finest performance of her life, she knew that instinctively. Even those without the training required to appreciate the subtleties of Twi’lek sacred dance could see they were in the presence of something rare and singular.

As the song ended, so did her moment. She landed the last step and stood there, feet together, in repose.

The applause washed over her, and even Jabba’s huge fat hands were crashing together. Her heart soared. She was a dancer, and soon she would be free! If someone would come for that smuggler Solo, surely they would come for her! All she had to do was--

She stumbled and almost toppled over. Jabba had yanked on her choke chain. He croaked out a command and tugged again. 

Oola’s face fell. She could see the avidity in his eyes, the way his tongue probed at his chin. He wanted her. He would take her, maybe here, in front of everyone.  _ Never again _ . She could not allow that. She couldn’t.

“No!” she pleaded. “Please, no! Not today!” She braced her feet against the floor and wrapped both hands around the chain. “Not today, you monster!”

Jabba roared in indignation, and his courtiers echoed it. How dare she? How dare this slave-whore speak to the great Jabba that way? He tugged again, and she was dragged a half-step closer. “Come to me!” the Hutt commanded one last time. Oole grimaced and dug in her ankles.

Jabba’s fat hand slapped at his control console, and the floor dropped out from underneath her. 

Oola shrieked as she fell. The trapdoor had dropped her into a rough chute, which she slid down on her bottom. Her costume, never much more than a few scraps of lace anyways, shredded away. The rocks and grit stung her bare bottom, but before she had time to register the pain, she fell off the edge of the chute into a rocky cavern. The loose chain slithered down the chute after her.

She picked herself up off the floor and looked around. She was barely bruised. What was this? Some bizarre new prison? The walls were rough and uncut stone, dripping with lime and blossomed with lichen. Stalactites clung to the roof overhead. The ground was littered with boulders and fragments of what Oola told herself wasn’t bone. From far overhead, she could hear Jabba chortling. 

A metallic grinding noise caught her attention. The far wall of the cave was a massive steel door, and it was beginning to rise. A blast of warm air hit Oola square in the face and carried with it a whiff of carrion. Her nose wrinkled and fear twisted her features. Something was moving beyond the door.

She shrank back from it, but by then the door was all the way open and the thing behind it stepped into the light. Oola shrieked in abject horror.

The creature emerging from the far end of the cave was unlike anything she had seen, even in her darkest nightmares. It towered over her, even with its crooked legs and hunched back. It was vaguely humanoid, but twisted like a fairy-tale ogre. Its face was all yawning mouth full of crooked fangs. Its eyes were beady little dots, its nose nothing more than a pair of slits. Clotted meat clung to its teeth and the hooked talons on the ends of its fingers.

It lurched towards Oola with rapid strides of its stumpy, underdeveloped legs. In the moment before it was on her, her eye was drawn to its left wrist, which bore a manacle and a trailing length of chain.  _ Even this monster isn’t free. Is freedom anywhere in the galaxy? Is it a lie after all? _ Oola’s mouth was still screaming, but her brain had attained a sort of icy calm. With her life now measured in seconds, she found grace and poise more valuable assets than panic and terror.

The beast reached out for her with one clawed hand. It hesitated, as if uncertain. Perhaps it was unused to its prey standing its ground. Oola’s heart was hammering fit to explode, but she was still rooted to the spot, and she did not fight or even protest when the creature’s claw closed around her.

Up close the stench of it was appalling, even worse than Jabba. It filled her nostrils with rotting-meat stench, and when it lifted her up to head height, a gust of its rancid breath nearly choked her. Tears trickled down Oola’s cheeks. She had mere moments of life left; it seemed unfair that she would have to spend them terrified and bathed in stink. At least she hadn’t soiled herself in her last moments.

She screwed her eyes shut and waited for the end. Would the monster crush her, or tear her limb from limb, or would it merely eat her alive? She didn’t dare look. But as the seconds stretched out, in into another, and no pain came, curiosity partially overcame her terror.

Oola opened her eyes. She was lying on the beast’s palm, one of its claws pressing across her midsection and pinning her down. It was holding her up to its face and staring at her, snuffling curiously. She looked down at herself and then at the monster. What was it waiting for? Was it not hungry? Was that a gleam of  _ intelligence _ in one deep-set black eye?

All her life, Oola had been a pawn in someone else’s games. Her father’s, Fortuna’s, Jabba’s… She had no money, no talent with the Force, no blaster and no credits. She had nothing but herself, and Jabba had twisted her own body against her. But that had left her with one weapon.

She spread her legs and reached cautiously between them. Perhaps terror was exciting to her; her slit was already dripping wet. She slid two fingers between her lips and gently parted them. The creature holding her snuffled again, and drew in a deep breath. Oola watched it--  _ him _ \-- carefully. If she was wrong, this was just a way to die with slightly less dignity. 

The bite still didn’t come. No talons ripped her flesh. The creature reached out with one gnarled knuckle and rubbed it against her belly. The thing’s flesh was rough but surprisingly warm, and its touch was feather-soft. It rubbed further down until its calloused flesh was pressing against her pussy. She gasped at the rough texture. Her captor could have crushed her like a  _ niri _ -fly, but it was barely pressing down on her.

The beast held her in both hands and tilted her upright. Even as it began to lower her, Oola looked down, knowing what she would see. She’d been serving at Jabba’s Palace for long enough to know when a man had his eye on her, no matter the species. Sure enough, a cock the size of her calf stuck up from between the creature’s legs like a ship’s mast. In truth, it was surprisingly small, relative to the beast’s overall mass-- but it was still large enough to split a normal girl in two. 

Oola was no normal girl. Jabba had remade her for his pleasure, but that gift would now save her life.

The creature did not simply impale her onto its staff. It lowered her almost gently until she was resting against the base of its shaft with her legs straddling the organ on either side. When she leaned back, she could feel the beast’s massive heartbeat through its skin.

The beast lifted her slightly and pulled her along its length. She gasped. Its cock was not as vile as Jabba’s, but it was criss-crossed with ridges and thick veins, and they rubbed against her velvety lips. Even these light touches sent a shiver up her spine. She closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep from moaning. Bracing both hands palm-down against the shaft to keep herself steady, she wrapped her legs around it and knotted her ankles together. She began to grind her hips forward and back. The creature continued to drag her along its length, nearly to the tip before sliding her back to the base. Oola took a deep breath and kept rolling her hips with a gentle, tidal movement. Forward and back, forward and back; the heat built in her sex, the itch deep inside her. She moved one hand to the tiny green nub of her clit and began to rub in a semi-circular motion. She found her motion along the creature’s cock becoming smoother-- lubricant juices were practically  _ gushing _ out of her and dripping down the sides of the massive rod.

Oola wanted to speak up, to beg for consummation, but she knew the creature couldn’t understand her. Besides, she could still hear the laughter from high above, and she didn’t want to give those animals the satisfaction. They were expecting a show down here. Well, she had to give them one, but she didn’t have to make it easier for them.

Fortunately, the monster either picked up on her desire or ran out of patience. It lifted her up under the shoulders and positioned her above its cockhead. She spread her legs obediently. The drop seemed to take ages, but surely that was just her anticipation making the moment last.

Its tip was broad and spatulate, with a flatter bottom and rounded top. It nestled between her lips for a moment before prying them aside. Despite its odd shape, the beast’s cockhead slid into her easily. It seemed designed to fill up an equally-oddly-shaped orifice, and once inside Oola’s pussy, it touched her in strange and unexpected ways. She didn’t care a whit. The familiar sensation of  _ fullness _ , of  _ pressure _ , was a welcome relief. Her paramour’s organ fit her better than Jabba’s ever did, even as it stretched her wider than she’d ever been stretched before. She allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. The crime lord, egotistical as always, had asked for more space than he really needed.  _ Men really are all the same _ . Well, she was using it all now-- the monster had buried only three inches of its length inside her, and she already felt stuffed. It had stopped moving, perhaps not wanting to damage her before it had its fun. Oola bucked her hips again in what she hoped was an encouraging fashion. Even that slight movement made her cry out, despite her best efforts: when she moved, the cockhead inside her moved against her and found her most sensitive places.

The creature pulled her down slightly, and Oola felt her body start to give. It was a familiar sensation, but a strange one all the same. She tried not to look down, knowing that she would see her legs moving in unnatural ways. Inch by inch, the creature’s cock slid deeper into her. She realized she had been wrong when she had dismissed its size. It grew wider towards the base, and it was already wrenching her apart. She felt no pain-- the surgeon had done his work well, there-- only a sizzling, indescribable pleasure. Her arms went limp, and had the creature not been holding her, she surely would have fallen. As it was, she trembled at the sensations that filled her brain. The pressing, the stretching, the dull achy warmth that spread outward from her clit like rivers of burning magma… 

She wanted to help, wanted to work herself further onto the thing’s cock, but she could barely move under her own volition. The bliss enveloped her and carried her away. She could feel it tunneling ever deeper into her, filling her up, seeking her secret core. Her body distorted around the massive prong. It stood a full foot proud of her belly, her skin so taut around it that an observer could have seen the individual veins that crossed the shaft. Still it went deeper, deeper, filling her more fully than she’d ever been. It warmed her from the inside, like a hot coal she had swallowed. She could feel the bass thrum of the creature’s heart syncopating against her own.  _ A true dancer finds the rhythm within herself _ , she thought. And here it was.

Her buttocks bumped gently against the creature’s hips. Somehow, impossibly, she had bottomed out on the shaft. Its tip stuck out between her breasts. Laughing, she pushed them together, as if offering a tit-fuck to the creature while it was buried in her pussy. She felt dizzy and lightheaded. She had done it! This creature was surely death given form, and she had conquered it!

She felt herself rising. The monster was lifting her again, pulling itself out of her. The passage of its massive prong churned up her insides. They slid back into their accustomed places and the bulge of her belly shrunk. The folds of skin wattling the creature’s cock tickled her inner walls as it pulled out. She giggled and clenched her legs tighter around it.

Pulling out took almost as long as the initial plunge in. The creature seemed to be savoring it, taking its time. That was just fine with Oola. Each new inch seemed to bring a new sensation-- all pleasurable, all overwhelming, but each unique and special in its own way. She had not imagined such a pleasure could exist in the galaxy. It made her wonder what else she had been missing out on.

The creature paused with the knobby head of its cock planted just inside her entrance, and began to pull her back down. Oola could restrain herself no longer. She didn’t care that her lover probably couldn’t understand her; she didn’t care that she was giving Jabba and his cronies the show of a lifetime. None of that mattered. Her world had shrunk to a bubble: just her, her monstrous partner, and the kaleidoscope of bliss that unfolded with each new thrust. 

He began to pick up speed. Each time he slammed home with a wet squelching slurp, the sound of her body rearranging around his prick. Oola was bounced and jostled wildly. She didn’t care. Head-tails flailing, face set in an expression of pure joy, she let herself go. The sounds of their coupling rang off the walls and echoed up out of the pit, where a hush had fallen over Jabba’s court. They had expected a messy execution, but this… this was something else entirely. Jabba’s eyes were wide and avid as he drunk in the scene. His hand paused with a paddy frog halfway to his mouth. Even the loquacious Crumb had been struck momentarily dumb.

Oola had lost count of the climaxes she’d reached by the time the monster roared out his pleasure into the air. A dozen, at least, each one a mind-wracking soul-destroying explosion that left her blank-faced and drooling. Sweat poured off her forehead and beaded on her breasts. She had never imagined a partner with this kind of unholy stamina. Her fears, her cares, the weight of misery that had hung over her head since she arrived at the palace: they had all been fucked out of her, leaving only a vapid contentment.

The beast bellowed at the ceiling and hilted himself one last time. Oola roared too, as best she could. Their voices intertwined and rose together towards the watching court. Inside her, his enormous cock twitched and began to fire.

Oola had thought that Jabba’s seed was copious, but that was nothing compared to his beast’s ejaculation. It filled her in seconds. Her body cavity, already straining to contain the creature’s huge cock, expanded still further. The penile bulge in her tummy disappeared as she bloated out around it. Despite the impossibility of it, she felt certain that at any moment cum would come shooting out of her mouth.

The creature held her in place as long as it could. Gouts of thick, porridgey spunk splattered against her insides and filled up her womb. Her skin stretched taut, and soon even her modified body could take no more. Just as the stretching sensation became painful, the beast finally let her go.

The result was immediate and dramatic. Hydraulic pressure forced her up and off the enormous fuckmeat. She launched like a rocket and tumbled end over end. She was far too out of it to protect herself, but the monster snatched her out of the air like a child catching a paper starship and set her down on the cave floor. His balls were still emptying themselves; without Oola to absorb his output, it shot out everywhere, basting the cave walls and dripping from stalactites. At the beast’s feet, Oola found herself covered with it from head to toe. It was a thick, greyish gruel with a strangely musky smell. She idly scooped a handful from between her tits and tipped it into her mouth. As she chewed, a contented smile spread across her face. Her eyes were glassy and distant, but she grinned the grin of someone who had finally found a place for herself.

Jabba watched in disbelief as his pet rancor scooped up the dancer in one hand. She looked practically spherical, even with the waterfall of monstrous jism pouring from her ruined cunt. Her quim was gaping wider than the Pit of Carkoon! Yet even from this height, there was no mistaking the smile on her face.

The Hutt shrugged and toggled his throne to slide back into place. Across his court, a murmur of conversation resumed. Even something as astonishing as a Twi’lek-rancor sex show could only hold their attention for so long. Jabba wondered if the rancor would keep his new pet, and if he should do something about it. He shrugged. There were a million things to do every day. That one could wait.

That night, the rancor slept curled up in one corner of his cave, as always. But this time, a tinier figure slept in the crook of his arms. 


End file.
